A Delicate Balance
by Little Cinch
Summary: Series of snapshots exploring the early relationship between Carol and Daryl. Rating for adult themes and language.
1. Quarry

**This will be a series of snapshots - each chapter is its own story, but they all explore the development of the relationship between Carol and Daryl. I'll keep putting these up until I can't think of any more or until I get bored and move on to something else. Let me know if there's something you'd like to see.**

**Trigger warning: reference to abuse and marital rape**

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**Quarry**

The bruises from the previous night were bad enough that Carol had to put on a cardigan despite the sweltering heat that was already pressing down on the camp. It had taken some doing, but she'd managed to get Sophia out of their tent for a few nights by talking Yolanda Morales into letting her daughter Leticia and Sophia have a sleepover. Ed, whose eye seemed to be drawn to his own child more and more every day, had been furious. He'd kept things quiet, but he'd been more careless than usual about where he left marks. The rest of the group seemed willing to turn a blind eye to the bruises she occasionally sported, but these were so obvious there was no way they would let it go. Especially that cop. So today she was nursing a sore shoulder and wearing a sweater when the temperature would no doubt top a hundred degrees later on. She would just have to be careful to stay out of the sun and drink extra water.

Her shoulder was too painful to allow her to take any more laundry down to the quarry lake, so she worked on pulling down what had already dried on the lines. She gathered it all up and sat near Dale's RV to sort and fold the pile – close enough to Ed that he could still see her, but far enough away that he'd have to come fetch her himself if he wanted her. Sometimes his laziness worked in her favor. She could keep an eye on Sophia and Carl and the Morales kids from here, too.

They'd been at the quarry campsite for several weeks now, and she mostly knew whose clothes were whose. Several piles built up around her as she sorted out the crisp laundry. The items she couldn't identify went into a separate pile that people could search through later if they were missing something. She'd been working for a while, and the heat was beginning to make her a little dizzy, so she stood up to take a break and get some water.

She stretched and walked to the fire pits where they kept the big coolers full of water that had already been boiled. She took a long drink and splashed a handful onto her head, wetting her hair and neck in an attempt to cool off a bit. If only there were a breeze, it wouldn't be quite so unbearable.

As she stood staring at the pattern the water drops made in the dust as they dripped from her hair, she heard someone approach from behind. She spun around, then took a step back in surprise. It was one of those Dixon brothers that had joined their camp last week. She'd not spoken with either one of them, but she'd kept a close eye on them both whenever they ventured over from their campsite. They were set up some distance from the rest of the group, and for that she was grateful. The one brother was loud, obnoxious, and seemed to delight in stirring up trouble. But it was the other brother standing in front of her now, the one who kept more to himself. His hands were covered in blood, and over his shoulder was a ...part... of an animal. A deer? There were ribs and only two legs, its head was gone, and it had been skinned and gutted, leaving only red muscle streaked with white in the general shape of what it had been in life. She backed away another step, overwhelmed by the smell of blood and meat in the cloying heat.

"You do cookin' for the camp?" He looked at her with guarded eyes, and something just shy of a sneer on his face.

"Sometimes," she mumbled, keeping her own eyes down and making sure she was several steps away from him since she knew Ed was probably watching. It was dangerous enough just talking to him.

"Got us a deer. We can't use it all 'fore it'll spoil in the heat, so you all might as well have it." He slung the carcass from his shoulder and held it out to her.

She looked around nervously, hoping to find someone else who could deal with this, but there was no one around. They'd all retreated from the heat.

She edged forward to take the deer from him, but snatched her hands back when his narrowed eyes locked onto the bruises on her wrist. Her sleeve had slipped up when she reached for the deer. Tugging her sleeves back down and clenching the ends in her fists, she backed away from him quickly. He made no move to follow or question her. He just watched her pull away with those narrow, cautious eyes.

Turning away, he tossed the carcass on the table that sat between the two fire pits, then headed for his own camp. She thought he threw one sidelong glance toward the tent where Ed was most likely watching her in a fury, but she wasn't sure. If he had, it would only fuel Ed's rage.

She found Amy and Jacqui in their tents and asked them to help her in deciding the best way to cook the venison that had been gifted to them. She needed to stay busy and avoid being alone. Their meal prep kept her occupied for a while, then she finished up sorting and delivering laundry while the venison stewed. She continued flitting around the camp the rest of the day, doing every little chore she could think of. That evening when the food was ready, she knew she had no choice but to return to the tent where Ed waited for her in his lawn chair, flicking cigarette ash into the still, stifling air.

After getting Sophia settled next to Carl and Lori with her dinner, Carol scooped up some of the venison stew and brought the bowls to the tent. She kept her eyes down and her ears open, alert for any cues that might tell her how angry Ed was. When he took the offered bowl without so much as a snide remark, she knew she was in trouble. She was grateful Sophia would be with the Morales family tonight so she wouldn't have to see or hear. Sinking down to sit on the ground next to his lawn chair, she ate her own stew with shaking hands, though she wasn't sure she would be able to keep it down.

* * *

After she was sure Ed had fallen asleep, she slipped silently from the tent. He'd been particularly vicious tonight as she'd feared. Once she'd gotten far enough down the road to the quarry lake, she let the sobs come, though she tried to keep as quiet as possible – she knew she was taking a risk coming out here alone, but she needed to nurse her injuries.

There was enough light from the nearly full moon that she was able to walk the road without stumbling. When she finally reached the lake, she had mostly cried herself out. She pulled out the cloth she'd brought with her, and wet it with the cold spring water. Gently lifting her shirt, she pressed the cloth to her ribs, shuddering when it made contact with the bruised and abraded skin. She continued her makeshift cold compress, doing her best to ease the various hurts. Finally she gave up. Stripping off her clothes, she walked straight into the lake, washing her skin and letting the cold water numb the pain in her ribs, her shoulder, her back, and between her legs. She stayed in the water until her teeth began to chatter. Realizing she had no way to dry herself off, she climbed naked onto one of the rocks that jutted out into the water. The stone still held heat from baking in the sun all day – it felt good on her cold hands and feet. She sat for a long time, letting herself drip dry as much as the humid Georgia night would allow.

The longer she stayed out here, the more chance there was that Ed would discover her missing and come looking. So she gathered up her clothes and dressed, fabric clinging stubbornly to her damp, tender skin. Slowly, she trudged back up the road toward camp.

When she was about halfway up the hill, a voice in the dark startled her. It took all her self-control to keep from screaming.

"The hell you think you're doin' out here in the middle of the night? Ain't you got a brain in your head?" It was that Dixon man again. He stepped out from the trees to her right, crossbow in hand.

She backed away from him and didn't offer an answer to either question.

"You deaf? The hell are you doin' out here?"

"I'm sorry," she murmured.

"Don't 'sorry' me – don't care if you're sorry. What the hell're you doin'?" His voice stayed soft, but an edge of irritation had crept in.

"I-" She had no idea what to say. "It doesn't matter. I'm heading back now."

He snorted and eyed her in the moonlight, taking in her wet hair and the careful way she moved. Sighing, he said, "C'mon. I'll walk you."

She moved another step back from him. "Please – it's OK. I don't want to be any trouble."

He shifted his crossbow onto his shoulder. "Shit, I just don't wanna get my ass chewed if you get yourself lost or bit. Now hustle it up. Ain't got the patience of a damn saint, ya know."

She studied him from under her lashes. Finally, she looked back at her feet and nodded. He huffed rudely, then turned on his heel and started up the road, not waiting to see if she followed. He moved so fast, she was winded by the time they reached the outer edge of camp, each breath sending searing pain through her ribs.

He watched her as she caught up the last few yards, wearing the same expression he'd had that afternoon when he saw her wrist. She shifted her weight uncomfortably and tried not to let on how painful it was just to breathe.

"Thank you. I can go alone from here," she whispered, trying to keep him as far from Ed's tent as possible.

He cleared his throat and looked away, out over the open quarry. "You be OK?"

She knew he didn't mean the walk back to the tent.

Biting her lip hard to keep from saying anything, she simply nodded. He looked back to her, catching the movement in the corner of his eye. After a pause, he gave a sharp dip of his head and took off in the direction of his own camp.

She watched him go until she lost sight of him in the darkness between the trees before returning to her husband's tent to wait out the rest of the night.


	2. CDC

**There's a story out there called _First Times_ by JoeyLee that I really like. There was a chapter (3?) that I particularly loved that took place at the CDC. I haven't been able to shake it out of my head, and this one borrows heavily from the idea of that chapter. I hope I haven't stepped on any toes.  
**

**Go check out _First Times_ if you haven't read it already. It's awesome.**

**Reminder: this is a series of snapshots, so don't expect each chapter to pick up where the last one left off! I promise no cliffhangers.  
**

**BTW, I do not own any of this stuff - characters, situations, locations, what have you. I just like to tell stories for fun.  
**

* * *

**CDC**

After months of unrelenting fear, the relief they all felt over their salvation at the CDC made their celebratory dinner with Dr. Jenner a giddy affair. The wine made it a somewhat rowdy one. Having enough food to actually feel _full_ was a joy in itself. Most everyone was at least a little tipsy from the wine, but Carol had stuck with water so there was at least one sober head around to keep the kids out of trouble. She sat back and enjoyed watching everyone teasing each other and laughing as the wine did its work - the group loosened up and had some fun.

The party wound down, though, after Shane started pushing Jenner for answers. No one was in the mood to celebrate after that. So they gathered up their things and were shown to their new rooms. They were small but might as well have been a five star hotel compared to what they were used to lately. And hot showers? Carol didn't think there could be anything more precious in the world right then. She let Sophia shower first, then sent her on to the rec room to play games with Carl.

Stripping off her grubby clothes, she stepped under the warm spray and nearly cried from the sheer pleasure of it. She scrubbed herself from head to toe with actual soap and shampoo in hot, clean water that didn't smell of mud or fish or leave grit in her hair. God, it was glorious!

A thumping sound startled her out of her reverie.

"Sophia, baby? Is that you? I'll be right out." There was no answer, though. A prickle of fear wormed through her belly. There couldn't possibly be walkers down here, could there? They were supposed to be safe.

She shut off the water and grabbed her towel, drying herself as quickly as she could. Another thump sounded just outside the bathroom door, and she stifled a scream as the door slammed open, and a limp body slumped onto the floor. As she scrambled to wrap herself in the towel, the body rolled over and groaned.

"_Daryl_? What are you _doing_?"

He opened his eyes, looked up at her from the floor, and started giggling. A grown man, giggling.

"Yer usside down." He pointed at her towel. "An' you ain' got no pants on."

Carol's cheeks burned as she wrapped the towel tighter around herself. "Get out of here! What do you think you're doing?"

"Goinna bed, but fellover. Whups," he mumbled.

"But why are you _here_? This is _my_ room!"

There was no answer from the floor. As far as she could tell, he'd passed out. Now what was she supposed to do? What would people think if they found him passed out in her room? What if Sophia came in?

That thought spurred her to action. She snatched up the clean night clothes she'd brought into the bathroom with her, but where could she change? Daryl was blocking the doorway, so she couldn't get privacy in either room. She certainly wasn't going to try to drag him out of the way while trying to hold up her towel. Sighing, she decided he was too far gone to see her even if she stood right over him, so she might as well just dress. Still, she kept the towel covering as much as she could while she struggled into the pajamas one handed.

Once she was dressed, she knelt down beside him. She reached out tentatively, unsure about touching him. But she needed him to wake up if she had any hope of getting him out of here.

"Daryl?" She patted his cheek gently.

"No!" He flinched away from her touch, and his hand flew up to catch her wrist. She gasped as he clamped down hard and twisted slightly. His eyes darted around before coming to rest on her face. His expression and his grip softened. She yanked her arm free and scrambled away from him on the floor, breathing hard and steeling herself for a blow. She knew perfectly well he wasn't Ed, but she couldn't help her ingrained reaction. This man was effectively a stranger to her, and he was drunk besides.

But instead of shouting or coming at her with fists or feet, he stayed sprawled on the floor, struggling to prop himself up on his elbows and blinking as he peered at his surroundings.

"Room's spinnin'. Y'drank too mush, ligh'weight." He laughed again, then groaned, sounding disappointed. "Where's my bed? Floor's not m'bed."

He seemed harmless enough – didn't seem to be an angry or violent drunk. In fact, he seemed much crankier when he _wasn't_ drunk. She inched back over to his side.

"I can show you, but I'll have to help you up. Is that OK?" She was unwilling to touch him again without permission.

In response, he stuck his hands out toward her and started what amounted to an awkward sit-up. She stood, grabbed his hands, and pulled while he scrabbled to get his feet under him. He wasn't particularly tall or large, but he was muscular which meant he was _heavy_. Before he could topple over the other way, she slipped an arm around his waist to steady him, and he leaned on her, resting one arm across her shoulders. Having so much of him pressed against her set her on edge. His fingers dug into her shoulder and she tensed, but he just seemed to be trying to keep his balance. They staggered across the tiny room and out into the hallway, which was mercifully clear of prying eyes.

She helped him stumble along until they got to what she was fairly sure was his room, though she knocked softly on the door before opening it, just in case. The door swung open, and she flipped on the light. His crossbow and pack were in a heap in the middle of the floor, so at least this was the right place.

"Here you go, back in your room. Try not to get lost again, hm?" she said as she guided him to the couch and eased him down.

"Wazzn lost. Goinna bed." He oozed sideways on the couch until his head landed on the pillow, muffling his words.

"What?" She wasn't sure she heard him right.

"Unngh. Spinning," he mumbled.

Sighing, she unlaced his boots and pulled them off. She hoisted his feet up so he was more or less all the way on the couch on his side. She expected he'd be sore in the morning from sleeping in such an awkward position, but she supposed this was better than the floor. Especially _her_ floor. Shaking out the blanket that was folded on the back of the couch, she covered him up to keep off the chill. As she tugged it up around his shoulders, his hand came up to catch hers. His movement was slow enough and his grip gentle enough that she didn't flinch away this time, but she shivered when he brought her hand to his lips and planted a sloppy kiss on the back of her fingers.

"Thank you, Sacwuh...Sac...Sacagawea." He laughed at himself and mumbled some more. "Mmf. Mowzz, muh ass, Mrrrl. Sh'purrrdeee."

She pulled her hand free, but stayed to make sure he settled into sleep. When he was snoring softly, she stood and backed out of the room, closing the door behind her. Wrapping her robe tightly around her, she took a deep breath before making her way down to the rec room to check on the kids, who were just starting a new game of checkers. She chose a book from the shelves and sat on the couch in hopes of distracting herself.

She chewed her lip as she tried to read, but she felt restless. Why had he ended up at her door instead of someone else's? _Anyone_ else's? Drunk men made her nervous – they were unpredictable. But he had seemed...cheerful, if anything. And he kissed her hand. She absently rubbed the fingers he'd kissed against her lips. He didn't feel like a threat, which was confusing. By all rights, he _should_ feel like a threat.

As the two kids played their game, Carol turned to watch Sophia for a minute, soaking in the sight of her baby girl alive and safe in this horrible world. When she eventually turned back to her book, she decided it didn't matter. Considering his condition, she doubted he would even remember their encounter in the morning, and things wouldn't be any different than they were before. All that mattered was keeping Sophia safe, and if Daryl was part of the group that did that, then so be it. If he made her uncomfortable, she would figure out how to deal with it.


	3. La Casa de los Muertos

**This is based on events that happened in a deleted scene from episode 2x01 (What Lies Ahead) where they look for help from the vatos after leaving the CDC. If you haven't seen it or don't remember, it might help to check it out first, though I don't think it's absolutely necessary.**

**Reminder: These chapters are snapshots and don't necessarily pick up where the last chapter began.**

**Disclaimer: Do I really have to do this? I don't own any of this shit. Still. Ever.**

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**La Casa de los Muertos**

They were on the ragged edge – after the devastating revelations at the CDC and the heavy losses they'd suffered over the last few days, they needed a place to rest and regroup. Desperation led them to travel back into Atlanta, with the hope that they could find temporary sanctuary at the nursing home where Glenn had been taken less than a week before. The men had left on good enough terms with Guillermo's people that the group was hopeful they would be taken in for at least a night or two. But when they reached the rest home, all hopes for help faded. They were seeking a haven, but found a graveyard.

They barged into the building in one chaotic group, and Carol felt despair and panic rising. This was dangerous. There was nothing here but death. Bodies were left lying in the hallway and clustered in every room. She clung to her daughter, trying to shield her from the worst of what was there, but Sophia whimpered and started to cry. Carol held her tighter and tried to quiet her as they moved through the hall, but apparently that wasn't enough.

"Put a sock in it!" Daryl hissed from the front of the group.

Her panic flared into hot fury, and she glared back at him. "You leave her alone!"

Defending her child was one thing that came automatically to her, but she shocked herself by talking back like that. The desperate fear was making her brave – or stupid.

"You shut her up or I _will_!" His harsh, whispered threat made her tremble as his voice became Ed's in her head. She hugged her daughter tight and hunched inward, guarding against the attack her instincts told her would come next.

But Lori stepped in, making him back down. Half the group pushed on into the building to clear a safe place. The rest of them barricaded themselves into the lobby, hiding from the dead. When Rick's group returned, they all gathered in the large dining hall.

"Upstairs is our best bet," said Rick. "We've cleared a few rooms – we can barricade those if we have to. We'll be all right."

_We'll be all right._

It was too much. Another empty promise of safety? The panic-driven anger flared again.

"You mean it this time? Or are you lying to us like all the times before?" The vicious words were out of her mouth before she had time to think. What was wrong with her?

Lori jumped to her husband's defense. "That's unfair. And no help at all."

Carol hugged her daughter and tucked her head against Sophia's hair. Her face flamed. This anger and resentment that kept bubbling up was so unlike her. Wasn't it? Or was she just better at keeping it under control before, when fear of her husband's wrath kept it subdued?

They all moved upstairs to one of the rooms - the residents of which had apparently been elsewhere when they were murdered. And they _had_ been murdered. Everyone here had. They'd all been gunned down in cold blood, and their killers took everything of value they had: food, guns, medicine.

The group sat together and shared what little food and water was left. Shane even had a bottle of wine with him from the CDC which was quickly opened. Carol wished she were brave enough to ask for a drink. She felt like she was losing her mind, losing who she was. A little wine might help her calm down before she mouthed off again. God knew her mouth had earned her more than one beating in her life before she learned to keep it shut. But now she feared she was losing control of herself.

The men gathered in the hall to discuss their plans, leaving the women and children behind to get settled for sleep. Sophia snuggled into Carol's arms, curled around her rag doll, taking what comfort she could from its softness and its tenuous connection to her friend Leticia who'd given it to her. Carol stroked her daughter's hair and wondered briefly where the Morales family was, and if any of them were still alive. She shook the dark thoughts from her head and tried unsuccessfully to relax enough to fall asleep. Eventually most of the men returned to the room and found places to bed down. The slow, steady breathing of the sleeping bodies around her felt warm and suffocating. The constant shifting and murmuring prodded at her consciousness, grating on her frayed nerves and keeping her awake.

After a couple of hours of sleeplessness, she couldn't bear the close quarters anymore. Gently extricating herself from Sophia, she stood and picked her way to the door, careful not to disturb any of the sleepers. She crept out into the hallway, waving at Shane at the top of the stairs to let him know she would be just a few doors down. Sitting in the dark at the end of the hallway, she breathed deeply, trying to ignore the stench of death that permeated the air. Anxiety clawed its way through her chest, despite her attempts to relax. Their night at the CDC had been such a relief for them, a release of all the stress and terror they'd been living with for the last few months. To be shoved back into this harsh world seemed doubly cruel after the relative luxury they'd tasted the night before.

Hugging her knees, she wondered if she'd made a mistake leaving the CDC. Maybe Jenner and Jacqui had been right – a quick, painless end might be preferable to this short, miserable life and the inevitable brutal death.

Noises at the top of the stairs caught her ear. Peering through the dark with a pounding heart, she saw Shane heading back into the room to get some sleep as someone else took the watch. It was just people. People – not walkers. But people didn't necessarily mean safety anymore. She trusted this group, more or less, but look what had happened to the people here. Regular folks looking out for each other and their families, all brutally murdered without a thought, just for the sake of a little food and medicine. She and Sophia should have stayed at the CDC.

She glanced up as she heard soft footsteps in the hall. Someone was checking up on her. Daryl. Her cheeks flushed. Was he still angry with her for talking back to him earlier? For not being able to quiet Sophia and putting them all in danger? She wished now that she'd stayed in the room with everyone else. At least there would be others around to keep his anger in check.

He set his crossbow down as he sat a few feet away from her, leaning against the wall.

"Can't sleep?" he whispered.

She shook her head, keeping her eyes on the floor. She was grateful he sat next to her rather than across from her, so she didn't have to look him in the eye. However, he was between her and the room, which put her on edge. She felt cornered.

"Me, neither." He held something out to her. "Drink? Might help you sleep."

She looked up to see him offering her the wine bottle from earlier. Slowly, she reached to take it from him, half expecting him to pull it back. There was still nearly a quarter of the bottle left. Keeping one eye on him, she took a deep pull from the bottle and swallowed it down. It wasn't the best wine, but it pooled warm in her empty belly. She took another drink before handing the bottle back.

He took a good gulp before setting the bottle down halfway between them, silently giving her permission to have more if she wanted it. He kept his eyes trained down the hall toward the stairs as they sat in a tense silence.

Eventually his voice grated harshly through the dark. "I'm sorry I yelled at yer girl, OK? Weren't fair to do, 'n she didn't deserve it."

Carol froze, confused. Was _he_ apologizing to _her_?

"Shit, jus'...tell her I said so, a'right?"

Daryl pushed himself to his feet and went back to his watch post at the top of the stairs, swearing under his breath and leaving the wine bottle beside her.

She watched him go, still hugging her knees. Her brow knit in uncertainty. An apology and a peace offering? Apparently. But he was angry. At her? She couldn't help but feel suspicious that it was some sort of trick or trap, that he was waiting for some reason to catch her out.

For a long time she sat without moving and thought about the man at the end of the hall. Finally she picked up the bottle and made her way to the top of the stairs. He scowled and kept his eyes focused down the stairs, guarding against any potential threat. She took one last pull from the bottle before leaving it at his feet.

"I'll tell her. Thank you." Her voice was soft, even for her – words barely there, floating out to him in the air.

But he heard, and nodded once abruptly. His eyes met hers briefly before flicking away, dismissing her from his attention.

She melted back into the dark, joining the others in the room. Curling herself around Sophia, she let the warmth of the wine in her belly spread through her limbs, relaxing her until she finally fell asleep.


	4. Stripped Down

**This one's a mini-chapter, and it DOES take place right after the last one. Or at least, the next morning.**

**Disclaimer: Nothing pertaining to The Walking Dead belongs to me. Not even a little bit.**

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**Stripped Down**

Daryl was passing a full gas can up to Dale in the RV when she saw it.

They were stripping down their caravan, ditching three of their vehicles and consolidating their supplies into those that remained. The chaos of last night had been tamed, and they now had a plan. Conserve fuel, be smart, push on to Ft. Benning. Having a goal gave them focus, and everyone bustled about, getting their jobs done.

Carol was rearranging the back of the Cherokee and happened to glance his way just as he reached up, gas can in hand. The timing was just right – or just wrong – otherwise she never would have seen it. The breeze caught the edge of his unbuttoned shirt, flipping it back behind him. His undershirt had hitched up, exposing a narrow strip of skin above his belt. It was such a little thing, she wondered if anyone else would even notice. But once she saw it, she couldn't stop looking.

A white, circular scar. Old, but unmistakable.

Cigarette burn.

He handed the gas can off and had started to turn to his next task when he noticed the focus of her attention. A hard expression rippled across his face as he yanked the edge of his shirt back down where it belonged. The anger and challenge in his glare would have been terrifying at any other time. But she didn't look away. Her perception had shifted at the sight of that small mark. Everything about him suddenly fell into place, and she understood. All the aggression and prickly defensiveness that he wore like a garment fell away in her mind, and she really saw him for the first time.

When she didn't quail at his glare, he stalked to the side of the Cherokee. Putting a hand to the roof, he leaned forward, looming over her in a way that should have been threatening. Still, she didn't look away.

"You got a problem, lady?" he snarled in her face.

Not trusting her voice, she shook her head no.

"Well, quit gawkin' at me! Mind your own goddamn business."

Sophia approached the Cherokee at a trot, with her rag doll in hand, but stopped abruptly when she noticed the confrontation. She looked at her mother uncertainly.

Daryl scowled and backed away half a step. Carol reached a hand toward her daughter and drew her close, putting an arm around her shoulder.

"Mr. Dixon was telling me he was sorry for yelling at you yesterday. He wanted you to know he didn't mean it." Her voice was soft but steady, to her relief.

Sophia turned her eyes to Daryl's stormy face doubtfully.

He glared at Carol with hard eyes before looking down at Sophia. His expression softened, though Carol thought that might not have been intentional.

"Shouldn't have yelled," he mumbled.

Sophia's eyes were big, but she nodded to him, accepting his words. Carol knew it was the first time anyone other than herself had offered an apology to the girl for causing her hurt. It stirred up a strange mixture of feelings she wasn't ready to sort out.

Daryl backed away another step, glaring at Carol again, though some of the fury behind it seemed to have dimmed. "Ain't you got work to do?"

He turned sharply on a heel and left to get another empty gas can from the Winnebago.

He and T-Dog siphoned the last of the gas from the church van and the Wrangler as the rest of the group loaded their things into the RV and the Cherokee. He still managed to throw a few dirty looks her way as they worked. Before long, everything useful had been tucked away, and the unnecessary left behind. The caravan moved out, lighter than before, on their way to Ft. Benning.


	5. Roadside

**Sorry for the delay in getting this out. This is a look at what happened on the highway after Sophia was lost, but before they got to the farm.**

**Reminder: These are snapshots, so each chapter is its own separate moment with our heroes.**

**Disclaimer: Nothing relating to The Walking Dead belongs to me. Never has, never will. **

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**ROADSIDE**

**Lost**

They all stood in anxious silence as they waited. Carol took slow, even breaths, trying to keep herself calm. It seemed like forever. Surely Rick would bring Sophia back soon. She could feel someone – Lori – rubbing her back soothingly, but it didn't help. Nothing would help until Sophia was back safe and sound.

Her heart leapt as they heard a sudden rustling in the trees. Rick appeared, calling for them. He scrambled up the bank, covered in dirt, sweat, and blood. But her stomach dropped when she realized he was alone. His eyes scanned the group expectantly.

"Where's Sophia?" he asked. His face twisted in dawning horror. "She's not back?"

Her baby was still out there. Carol moaned and sank to the ground on legs that wouldn't hold her anymore. Hands reached for her along with voices offering support and sympathy, but she didn't hear the words. All she knew was Sophia was lost and alone.

Shane, Glenn, and Daryl immediately volunteered to go back out with Rick to find her. As they gathered weapons, she heard Daryl say he could track the girl. Hope flared in her chest. He was a hunter. He could track and find Sophia.

The volunteers were ready to head out. In desperation, she turned to stop him.

"Please," she begged. She reached across the guardrail toward Daryl as though to catch his arm, but she stopped several inches short of actually touching him. "Please, find my baby."

For a moment, Daryl didn't meet her eyes. But then he looked back at her tear-streaked face and nodded. "I'll bring her back."

* * *

**Despair**

The waiting was torture. Shane and Glenn had returned hours ago, but there was no sign of the others. She leaned on the guardrail, letting it support her. After what felt like an eternity, she saw Rick and Daryl coming out of the forest, but Sophia wasn't with them. Oh, God. They didn't find her. Sophia was still lost in a forest full of walkers, and it was getting dark.

Panic flooded over her as Rick and the others assured her they had done all they could, and there was nothing more to be done tonight. They couldn't search in the dark. She felt sick. Her poor girl was out there alone and afraid in the dark, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. The anger and frustration that had surfaced at the nursing home boiled up again, and she lashed out. This was Rick's fault for leaving her out there in the first place. How could he leave her like that? Sophia was just a child.

She sat on the rail, feeling utterly helpless. People surrounded her again. Lori and Andrea hugged and petted her, offering comfort when there was none to be found.

Eventually, the others left her alone at the guardrail. Most of the group gathered near the RV to make plans for tomorrow. They would send out as many people as they could to try to pick up Sophia's trail, leaving the injured T-Dog with Dale to work on repairing the Winnebago. It was agony knowing there was nothing any of them could do through the night, but she felt a tiny bit better knowing they would all be searching tomorrow. More people could cover more ground.

As darkness fell, most of the group settled in to get some sleep before their early morning. Carol stayed up a little while, unable to give up her vigil, hoping Sophia might somehow find her way back, even in the dark. She knew it was unlikely, but she couldn't give in to the despair that threatened to pull her down and suffocate her. Hugging herself tightly, she strained to peer through the darkness, watching for any movement in the trees.

Quiet footsteps behind her startled her. She turned to find Daryl standing a few feet back. He shifted his weight uncomfortably as he made up his mind whether or not to approach her. Finally, he took the final few steps and joined her at the rail, watching the treeline. Neither of them spoke, but she appreciated that he wasn't offering empty words of sympathy. His presence alone was more comfort than any of the awkward hugs and back patting the others had given her.

They stood side by side in silence for a long while. Eventually exhaustion forced her to return to the RV, though she knew sleep would be impossible. As she turned to make her way back, she paused to give Daryl a small smile in thanks for his being there. His chin dipped the tiniest bit, which she took as acknowledgment.

Some time later, as she lay wide awake in the back of the Winnebago, she heard footsteps on the RV's ladder and roof. A few moments later, Dale climbed into the RV, and she knew Daryl had taken over the watch. She relaxed just enough to fall into a fitful sleep.

* * *

**Walk the Road**

Carol's mind simply wouldn't shut down. She was exhausted and terrified after their crazy day in the woods, and all she saw when she closed her eyes was Sophia in the dark, lost and scared. Sometimes she was huddling in the underbrush, cold and hungry. Sometimes she was running from hordes of walkers. Sometimes she was lying dead, torn apart by grasping hands. And sometimes she was the one with grasping hands and a different kind of hunger.

At least during the day there were other people around to distract her, though there were fewer now that so many of them had gone down the road to the farm. During the day, there were people out looking – Sophia might be found at any moment. But at night, she knew her daughter was alone and in danger for hours and hours, and all she could do was watch the horror show in her mind. The tears wouldn't stop coming. She rested in the little sleeping nook in the back of the RV, unable to sleep, wiping away tears and trying to stay quiet, though she knew she wasn't succeeding. Dale kept watch on the roof, Andrea fiddled with the guns, and Daryl was sleeping on the RV floor. Or at least he was trying to.

When he got up, she assumed at first that he was leaving to find somewhere quieter to sleep, driven away by Andrea's clattering and her own never ending tears. But instead he surprised her.

"Need my clip now. Imma walk the road. Look for the girl."

She looked back, wiping away her tears. He was willing to do that? A mix of hope and gratitude swelled in her chest as she met his gaze. He'd already done so much: tracking Sophia for a day and a half, coming up with the idea to leave a sign and supplies in case she made it back to the road, offering to stay on the highway so the others could join the rest at that farm. And still he offered more. Maybe he was really that concerned for Sophia, or maybe he just felt sorry for her poor, pathetic mother. In any case, he was doing more for her than everyone else had all put together.

Andrea decided to go with him, and Carol was glad there would be two sets of eyes, both to look for Sophia and to watch for danger. Knowing that Daryl was out there looking for her baby let her get control over her tears, but she was still unable to sleep. Finally, she grabbed her bag and went outside to climb to the roof and join Dale. She didn't want to be inside anymore – not alone. She told Dale she wanted to wait, but mostly what she needed was someone to wait with.

Dale's own anxiety over Andrea was eating him up. He'd been so concerned about her ever since the CDC, and now that she'd disappeared into the night, he was a mess. She knew Andrea would be safe with Daryl, and she tried to reassure him, but Dale couldn't be calmed. After fidgeting a while, he left her alone to go walk the road. She sat on the roof of the RV, watching Dale weaving between the hulking wrecks on the highway. He paced, peering into the darkness, but eventually made his way back to the RV, looking more anxious than ever.

"I really meant it, you know. She'll be just fine. She couldn't be safer out there than she is with Daryl." She spoke softly, hoping to reassure him.

"You seem to have a lot of faith in that man."

Carol looked up at him. "Don't you?"

Dale looked thoughtful for a moment. "You know, now that you mention it, I suppose I do."

He gave her a crooked smile before they fell back into silence to wait for the pair to return. His validation of her belief in Daryl left Carol feeling more at ease than she had since Sophia had disappeared into the forest. She really did have a great deal of faith and trust in him - more than she did for Rick or Shane. Though they had all been searching, Daryl was the only one who actually seemed to care about finding her daughter.

They saw a flash in the distance, and they focused on the bobbing lights as Daryl and Andrea drew closer. Finally they came close enough that she could see Sophia wasn't with them. She fought the sob that rose in her chest, and she hurried down the ladder and back into the Winnebago before anyone saw her fall apart. She curled up on the bed and let the hot tears come.

The door opened, so she tried to stifle her sobbing. Everyone must be so tired of her crying and wringing her hands all day. Daryl's boots scuffed the ratty carpet of the RV as he walked to the back, stopping beside her. When he didn't go away, she sat up and turned to face him, sniffing and scrubbing the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. He stood there long enough that she began to feel uncomfortable.

"'M sorry about what I said out there today. Last thing I wanna do is make you lose hope." His voice was rough, and his eyes were fixed on the floor.

He waited in front of her, looking guilty. It was true she had been stung by his earlier words when he said all her hopes and prayers were worthless. But his next words had stuck with her, too. She'd chosen to focus on his determination to find Sophia and bring her back safe. If anyone could do it, he would.

"You didn't," she said softly. "You'll find her. I know you will."

* * *

**Moving On**

She lay in the back of the RV as the first of the morning sun streamed in through the window. She watched the sunbeams crawl slowly down the wall. Dust motes swirled in the beams of light, as helpless to the currents that carried them as she was. Worthless or not, she prayed then – prayed that they would find Sophia today, safe and sound. When she opened her eyes, she watched the dust moving in the light, willing her prayers to travel with more direction than those aimlessly floating specks. She followed the sunbeams with her eyes for a minute more before getting up with the others, who were just starting to stir.

Today they would be joining the others at the farm down the way. They bustled around, packing up the last of the scavenged supplies. As she worked, she couldn't help looking past the guardrail toward the forest. She felt hollow knowing they were leaving, though she knew they had to. She looked over to where Daryl was busily stacking food and water on the hood of the car that now had a message to Sophia on its windshield.

She closed up the back of the Hyundai and rested her chin on her hands on the roof of the car as she watched him work. Maybe today. Maybe today they would find Sophia.


	6. Already Dead

**Day one at the farm.**

**Reminder: These are snapshots, so each chapter may or may not follow directly after the chapter before it.  
**

**Disclaimer: I own jack.**

* * *

**Already Dead**

The emotional roller coaster of the last two days left Carol exhausted and numb. Her optimistic outlook of the morning was shattered back at the traffic snarl when they found no sign that Sophia had returned. The food they'd left for her was untouched. She waved off the sympathetic platitudes from Andrea and Shane. She knew they didn't believe they'd ever find Sophia alive, and she found their words insulting.

They stopped at a field on the way back to the farm, scouting out a good place to do the gun training folks were expecting. Carol trailed behind the other two, not really listening to the discussion. As Shane and Andrea leaned on the split rail fence and chatted casually about God knew what, Carol wandered across the field, peering into the trees on the far side and wondering if her daughter might be somewhere nearby. Walking a little farther, she put a hand out to touch the rough bark of a pine at the edge of the forest. When she pulled her hand away, it was sticky with sap. She frowned and touched her fingers to the sticky spots on her palm, not liking the way it felt on her skin.

Dropping her hand, she took a few more steps into the forest. It was beautiful under the trees and blessedly cool after the glaring sun in the field. She thought she could hear water trickling, and she wondered if it was the same creek Sophia had been on. She turned toward the sound and walked a little farther, thinking she might take a peek, just in case there was some sign of her girl. Hadn't Daryl said the creek was her only landmark?

The sap on her skin was irritating. She would almost forget it was there, but then something would cling to it and remind her. Reaching down, she picked up a handful of dirt and scrubbed it between her palms. When she dusted off her hands, there were dark spots where the dirt had ground into the clear yellowish sap. But they weren't sticky anymore, which was a relief.

She climbed over a fallen log to peer over a low hill. The creek she'd been hearing was there at the bottom, bubbling and trickling along, not caring that the world had come to an end. Carol looked up and down the banks of the creek, but didn't see any obvious sign that anyone had been there, so she looked down into the rippling water instead. She picked up a dead leaf and dropped it, letting it flutter to the surface of the water and watching as the current snatched it up and carried it away. Her eyes followed the leaf until it disappeared from sight, and even then she kept watching the water though the leaf was long gone.

A hand grabbed her arm roughly and yanked her around. She gasped in pain and looked up into Shane's face, twisted in anger and entirely too close.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" The words were pitched low, but the fury behind them made her flinch. "Are you really that fucking stupid, wandering off into the woods by yourself? You trying to get yourself killed like your damn daughter?"

"_Shane!_" Andrea's voice cut sharply through his tirade, and she grabbed his other arm, pulling him back.

The glint in his eyes faded as he digested what he'd said. He pushed Carol away from him and snorted in disgust, though he wouldn't look her in the eye.

"Just get your ass to the car," he snapped. He turned and stormed back toward the field and the car parked beyond it.

Andrea reached for Carol's shoulder. "Are you OK?"

Carol sidestepped the hand and nodded, rubbing her upper arm where Shane had grabbed her. "I'm fine. He's right – it was stupid. Let's just go, please?"

She kept her head down as she followed Shane back to the car.

* * *

What she needed was to stay busy. She needed to distract her mind – keep occupied. When they got back to the farm, she set to work doing anything and everything she could think of. She had cooked some lunch for everyone, then cleaned the RV from top to bottom. The day still wasn't over yet, so she dug through the laundry looking for anything with holes or torn seams. She took a pile of clothes into the Winnebago and set to work mending. Her hands were still shaky, so each stitch took her twice as long as it should have.

Shane's words haunted her. She'd already known the others didn't believe they'd find Sophia alive anymore, but to have him throw it so viciously in her face hurt even more than she expected. And despite the hurt, she feared he was right. She needed to let go and accept that their chances of finding Sophia was dwindling with every passing hour. Carol knew she couldn't bear any more disappointment. If she didn't allow herself to get her hopes up anymore, they couldn't be crushed.

Twilight was approaching when Daryl stepped into the RV. She watched him, puzzled, as he placed a flower on the shelf in the sleep nook. And then he told her a story. She listened, hesitant to accept it as anything more than what it was – a story. But then he said something that made her heart ache.

"I'm not fool enough to think there's any flowers bloomin' for my brother...but I believe this one bloomed for your little girl."

Tears welled and spilled over as she tried to resist the fire of hope his words kindled inside her. But his absolute faith that Sophia would be found alive and safe was so strong. She desperately wanted him to be right, but was afraid to believe with him anymore.

"She's gonna really like it in here," he said just before stepping out the door.

The churning storm of conflicting emotion threatened to overwhelm her. Dropping her mending on the little table next to her, she stepped up the aisle to where the Cherokee rose sat in its bottle. She touched the velvety white petals, soft as her daughter's pale skin. She sat on the mattress and folded her arms on the little shelf that held the rose, then dropped her head down and cried.

* * *

After she ran out of tears, she splashed some water on her face and went out to help with dinner. She and Lori worked in silence, which suited Carol just fine. Lori clearly had something on her mind, but Carol didn't ask. The others straggled in a few at a time. When the food was ready, she dished up the plates and handed them out. Some people stayed by the fire, some retreated to their own tents to eat. Carol asked Andrea to carry an extra plate to the RV for her – she would be along in a minute.

Filling one last plate, she walked around to the end of the RV. Holding the dish in one hand, she climbed the ladder awkwardly. Daryl was watching her as she reached the top.

She held the food out to him. "I brought you dinner since you're stuck up here."

He took it from her and nodded his thanks. He turned his eyes back out across the fields and started picking at the food with his fingers. She watched him as he ate, unwilling to leave, but having no real reason to stay. She plucked at the spots of sap still clinging to her palm.

"What?" he said, around a mouthful of woodchuck.

She shook her head and turned to leave. But before she reached the ladder, she turned back around. She knew it was the wrong thing to say, but it was all she had been thinking about since he left her the rose. "They were already dead."

He frowned at her in confusion.

"The Cherokee children. What good is hope if the children were already dead?" she asked, her voice unsteady.

He narrowed his eyes. "Sophia ain't dead."

"But hope won't change it if she is." Her throat tightened as she said it out loud.

He stood abruptly and shoved the half-full plate back into her hands. "Sophia _ain't_ dead. She's just _fuckin_' fine, and I'm gonna find her if it kills me! If you ain't willin' to believe in her, _that_ ain't my fault. Now piss off and leave me alone. I got shit to do."

Her mouth twisted as she fought back guilty tears. She nodded and backed away toward the ladder.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. But if he heard her, he didn't respond.


	7. Laid Up

**Disclaimer: Most of the dialogue here is from 2x05 Chupacabra. No infringement is intended, and I don't do this for profit. **

* * *

**Laid Up**

She walked softly up the stairs carrying a tray of food for Daryl. Her stomach churned with guilt and nerves. She'd brought him dinner last night, then ruined everything with her terrible, awful questions. But even after all that, he'd gone out again, nearly getting himself killed looking for Sophia. He'd found her doll, and that was something. She wasn't sure she could completely shake the doubt she felt about finding Sophia alive, but she was trying. And now he was hurt, and it was her turn to do something for him.

She opened the door to the room where he was laid up. He quickly pulled the sheet up to cover his bare torso, but not before she saw the patchwork of scars on his back. She'd already seen the cigarette burn, so the rest didn't surprise or shock her – she had plenty of her own to match – but she pretended not to see, since he seemed self-conscious.

"How you feeling?" she asked gently as she placed the tray on the night table.

"'Bout as good as I look."

"Brought you some dinner. You must be starving."

He glared at her over his shoulder. He was still angry with her.

She was about to leave, but paused. On impulse, she leaned over to kiss him gently on the temple, just below his bandage. He flinched away, protecting himself from her. Her heart hurt to see it.

"Watch it – I got stitches," he grumbled, trying to brush it off as something it wasn't.

She sighed sadly. "You need to know something. You did more for my little girl today than her own daddy did for her in his whole life."

"I didn't do anything Rick or Shane wouldn't'a done." He tried to brush off the value of his own actions, too.

"I know," she said. "You're every bit as good as them. Every bit."

She wished she could tell him how much better he was than them, but she didn't think he would believe it. He was the one who actually tried to find Sophia. He was the one who reached out to her in a meaningful way to offer comfort and hope. He was the one she trusted.

He stayed turned away from her and didn't answer, so she left the room, closing the door behind her. She walked down the stairs slowly, wondering if she'd done the right thing. He'd been so angry last night. She only wanted him to understand that she appreciated everything he had done. Sighing, she went into the kitchen to help out with the huge pile of dishes to be washed. She'd go back up later to check on him and pick up his dinner tray.

* * *

After the last few dishes were dried and most of their group had returned to their camp outdoors, she went up to collect the tray. Hershel warned her that he'd given Daryl something for the pain and to help him rest, so he might not be awake. She smiled and nodded, then made her way upstairs. She knocked gently on the door to give him a chance to cover himself this time. Though his scars didn't disturb her at all, he was clearly sensitive about them. There was no answer to her knock, so she opened the door quietly in case he was asleep.

The light in the room was still on, but the bed was empty. His sheet was thrown back in a heap, spilling off the bed onto the floor. The tray of food was untouched on the night stand.

"Daryl?" she called softly. Where had he gone? He shouldn't be walking around by himself.

The door to the adjoining bathroom was closed, so she went over to it and knocked softly. "Daryl?" she called again.

There was no answer, but she heard a scuffling and a thump.

"Are you OK in there?" she asked. The lack of response made her nervous.

She chewed her lower lip, trying to decide what to do. She could go get Hershel, but she'd feel stupid if there was nothing actually wrong, and Daryl was just ignoring her. He _had_ been pretty angry.

She knocked one more time, then turned the knob. It was unlocked. Swinging the door open a little, she peeked her head inside. "Daryl?"

There was very little light in the bathroom, so she couldn't see clearly until she'd pushed the door all the way open, letting more light in from the bedroom. Daryl was sitting against the claw foot tub in the corner, staring blankly at the floor. The water in the sink was running at a trickle, and a wet washcloth was pooled on the floor in a puddle.

"Oh, God, are you all right?" She kneeled down to check on him. His bandages were intact and weren't soaked through with blood, so his injuries seemed under control. After turning off the water, she put a tentative hand to his cheek and turned him to face her. His skin was chilled, and his pupils were constricted even in the dim light. He pulled away from her touch, but without much energy behind it.

"'M fine," he said. "Leeme alone."

Some of the grime on his face and arms had been scrubbed away, but he'd apparently run out of steam before he finished cleaning up.

"Please let me help you get back to bed. You'll be more comfortable."

He blinked slowly and looked up at her. Eventually he nodded. Reminded of his drunken visit to her room at the CDC, she was shocked to realize that had only been about a week ago, give or take. She cautiously took his hand and pulled his arm over her shoulder. He leaned hard on her as she helped him stand. Careful not to touch his injured side, Carol walked him back to the bedroom and supported him as he sat on the bed. She checked to make sure he hadn't started bleeding again, and when she was fairly sure he was all right, she stuck a warning finger in his face.

"Stay put! I'll be right back."

She went to the bathroom and picked up the washcloth. Tossing the cloth in the sink, she turned the water on to heat up again while she went back into the bedroom. She emptied a ceramic bowl of potpourri and washed it in the sink. Then she filled the bowl with hot water and carried it carefully to the night stand. Daryl was still sitting on the edge of the bed where she'd left him, watching her with sleepy blue eyes.

She wrung out the washcloth and stood in front of him. "I'm going to finish cleaning you up, and then you can get some sleep, OK?"

He didn't object, so she took his chin in one hand and carefully cleaned the dirt, blood, and sweat from his face. He closed his eyes as she worked, letting her turn him this way and that without resisting or pulling away. Once his face and neck were clean, she hesitated, feeling inexplicably nervous.

"We're going to do your chest and arms now. Is that all right?" she asked.

He opened his eyes heavily, but nodded. She rinsed the washcloth and started on his shoulders and arms, working as quickly and impersonally as she could. Moving on to his chest, she found herself chewing her lip again. Even though he was completely out of it, she was blushing at the close contact. At the CDC, it was different. Then, his proximity made her anxious, if not afraid. Now, she felt awkward, but it wasn't exactly unpleasant. Not at all, really.

Rinsing the cloth again, she said, "Time to do your back now."

He frowned and his eyes swam around until they focused on her face, more or less. "Don' want you to see."

She paused, wringing out the washcloth. "It's OK. I won't look."

Still frowning, he appeared to think it over. "'Kay."

Carefully, she climbed onto the bed to sit behind him. She cleaned the grime from his back, working gently over the heavy scars, being sure not to disturb his bandages. His head nodded forward as she worked, and she assumed he had dozed off sitting up. When she was finished, she slid out from behind him and tossed the cloth into the bowl. She reached out and combed her fingers through his rumpled hair, smoothing it out as best she could around the gauze.

"Daryl? We're all done. You can go to bed now and get some sleep."

His head lifted and he blinked up at her. She put a hand to his shoulder and pushed him back, helping him get his bare feet up onto the bed and making sure he didn't lay on his injured side. Pulling the sheet back into place, she tucked it up around his shoulders, where she knew he would want it to be. She dumped the bowl of grubby water and rinsed out the cloth before hanging it over the edge of the tub to dry. By the time she went back through the bedroom, he was snoring softly. Pausing by the bedside, she decided his dinner would keep where it was. He could eat when he woke up later. Hesitating only a moment, she leaned down again to press a kiss to his temple, lingering a bit longer this time.

She left then, closing the door quietly and tiptoeing down the stairs.


End file.
